


villains are people heros refused to save

by NagitoeCalmaeda



Category: Original Work, not a fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cancer, Child Abuse, Double Life, Drug Use, Drugs, Future, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Inspired by Music, Other, Past Abuse, Rape, Realistic, The villain wins this time, Underage Rape/Non-con, Villains, heros suck, not a fan fic - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NagitoeCalmaeda/pseuds/NagitoeCalmaeda
Summary: yeah hi im jadis Amana, The most gore obsessed and known villain. My disaster aka my life is told from only my point of view. And guess what!! i don't follow and despise the villain 101.





	villains are people heros refused to save

**Author's Note:**

> trigger and content warnings are for every chapter! Sorry if this book sucks i just got these ideas from songs! Also this is just my very first draft i wanted to share!

2031\. January 14th.  
My cries could be heard all over the bright white room. It is funny, my first moments in life, correction this world and you could already hear my “father” cursing my one-minute existence of how I put his “doll” in pain. Ha, as if I asked to be in this messed up world. The only thing I remember after that for the year is how he hated me and how my mother tried to calm him down. It is the next year already, I now know that by my Mother, the only one who has loved me in these times of chaos known as my life, is greeting me with kisses and other types of love saying happy birthday. This was the first time I saw what would change part of my life, my father's illegal Items. I was still just a baby, only one, when I tried tasting it. It made me feel better, so I ate more. More. More until I got bored of it. I continued eating it until I was two. At only three I was able to speak, walk and understand, and read but when I say this, I mean I spoke like a third grader at three. I understood like a fifth grader. And I walked normal like a kid. 

There was only a small amount, so I took the rest. But I could not breathe for a minute and my vision went red in one eye and black in the other soon my vision was red I both eyes, but the color did not last long as I went to the bathroom on my step stool to see if something were in them. It was blood I would assume because my baby blue eyes turned purple. I went to show my mother how I thought I looked cool like a cartoon character. I walked the short distance that felt long to my short, stubby legs. Soon I made it to her room and saw what I had knew from police officer and horror shows. A pale corpse. 

I ran. I cried. I called to my father who had hated me. I saw my father's anger in his eye. I saw my father tell me it is my fault. I saw his hand go across my face even if I was only two. He never got rid of her body, he just made people think she ran away even though he would not go to jail for her death because she had cancer. So naturally I never went in the room because of the rotting smell of her corpse. 

My biological captor AKA my father started blaming my mother's “leave” on me and punished me for it. By the time this happened I was three years old, and I was only 23 pounds. 8 pounds underweight from my father taking away full meals and the proper amount of water “privileges”. Oh, the amount of resentment! I had towards my father. The ironic thing is I was born in a world of heroes trying to “make” everyone's lives happy and non-chaotic. How stupid was that. 

Time passed dreadfully slow, but soon it was my fourth birthday. The only way I knew that is because I looked at the calendar so I can celebrate my own birth. Nobody else. It is just me, myself, and I. I took care of myself which means I had to learn how to read and do basic cooking and other things. Being the very, very smart child I was, I wanted to make ice cream because I did not know how to use the oven for a cake. This was the day I found my first lighter and seeing my father use them I tried and did it. Some I could not do with my small fingers but the simple ones I would play with while I hid from my father with his signature broken bottle in hand. Under my bed I hid waiting for my father to pass out. Pass out, he did. A large thump happened. Knowing that was my father I crept out from under `the bed and looked in his eyes to make sure he was not faking like he would to just to lock me up. 

I opened his eyes, but they looked a bit different. They looked dry. Just slightly but I did not care he was for sure passed out one way or another. I ran to the kitchen to take my soon to be Oreo ice-cream. After eating my nicely done ice cream I wanted to play with my best friend, Ms. Lighter. Soon I got bored and picked an, let us say interesting book about medical things and soon learned about things like pulses and wanted to try it out on my abusive captor. One step away from his body. It was still warm. My fingers on his neck as the book showed. My fingers felt a weak pulse as the book said for an unconscious person. My father. My captor. My abuser. My most hated person in my hated list. Was finally weakened and unable to come after me after what felt like an eternity. I ran out the house, not before taking my lighter, my father's pocketknife, foods that will not rot, and some clothes.


End file.
